“You can’t handle the old man yet, boys,” said the colonel. His left eye was closed, and his new uniform looked like the ribbons hung on a May-pole.
Hamilton was bleeding at the nose. Hannibal’s lip was split. The three looked at each other and shook with laughter.
“I’m inclined to think we’ve had a healthy bringing-up,” said Hamilton between gasps.
“Better move, colonel,” said Hannibal; “you’re sitting in a pool of ink.”
“So I am,” said the colonel, as the cold struck through his new trousers.
The laughter broke out afresh.
Beau Larch, in the uniform of a private, appeared at the door.
“Hallo, Beau!”
“Come in.”
“Take a hand?”